First up in the freestyle bracket is everyone's favorite boss David Brent throwing down some impromptu bizness vs. Billy Squier doing God-knows-what. Watch each video, vote...and tell us why you picked the way you did in the comments box.
David Brent's Flashdance/MC Hammer fusion:
There have been many pants fads over the years. First came the stylish pantaloon (not to be confused with doubloons, for all ye pirates), then no significant advances in pant technology took place for quite a while...then some guy by the name of Levi Strauss and his buddies Jordache and Bugle Boy invented denim jeans, or "dungarees" if you are a pretentious ass. 
Many years again passed and along came corduroys, sweatpants, parachute pants and khakis—the world was now heavily pantsed and no one was left wanting for more pants varieties (except Mickey Rooney).
Fast forward to the early 1990s—Pants were still abundant and even Mickey Rooney had solved his pants crisis (he simply wore none), but two dreamers in a Los Angeles gymnasium were about to turn the pants world on its collective ear. Following such luminaries as Jonas Salk, Marie Curie and Albert Einstein; these two men developed a new kind of pant—one stretchy enough to cover even the most juiced-up quads and durable enough to survive both acid and stone-washings. The new pants were called: Zubaz. 
I don't think that I am overstating when I say that Zubaz were the most important development of the 20th century. The creators of Zubaz took an idea that was first postulated by MC Hammer—that pants could be both garish and ridiculously poofy and blousy...and they gave it life. What was this flubber-like material that Zubaz were made out of? No one will ever know (some say "rayon"). All we do know is that Zubaz were meticulously covered in animal prints, fastened with a drawstring and were impenetrable by stains. Zubaz, simply put, were awesometasticradicaltubular.
Why do the brightest stars burn out so brightly? Why must everything beautiful be so fleeting? Sadly, this ode to Zubaz is no more than a eulogy. Zubaz pants were taken from us by the government in the year 1996 (much like they take egg nog away each January). Oh sure, you can still find relics scattered here and there...on bodybuilders...cut up and used as car chamois...on Mickey Rooney...but Zubaz are largely extinct in North America. Some day, when the world is better ready to accept something beautiful without destroying it...I believe that Zubaz will return. They might be adorned with NFL logos...they might strike a deal with the World Wrestling Federation...they might. For now, all we can do is wait, ever vigilant, for their return...and be forever mindful of the glorious few years when Zubaz (pronouned Zoo-baz) ruled the world and we ALL dared...to be different.
I can't imagine what my childhood would have been like if I had never had the opportunity to adorn my feet with the very classy, glittery, comes-in-so-many-assorted-colors, and not to mention very cheap plastic jelly shoe. Oh my how the memories are wisping about in my mind like a cool breeze. Those sweet trips to the local Kings store where you could by anything from a Cyndi Lauper concert tee-shirt to the hard to find nowadays chicostick. It was a golden palace. We are talking surplus people, that is where you'll find the bargains and not to mention the must have jelly shoe bin. 
Walking home in defeat and utter ruin I limp home in these Godforsaken monstrosities and bury my head in my mother's chest in tears explaining the horrible chain of events. She comforts me and I cry myself to sleep. The next morning I awake and vow never to buy those tacky things again. Mom announces that she is headed to town and she might stop by Kings. Ahhhh yes, the whole saga begins all over again.
By Lacey Roberts
Every hardcore gamer needs three things: 1) a steely resolve, 2) an ability to completely immerse oneself in their virtual environment, and 3) a clunky, vinyl mat, that may or may not play 5 games.
If only had the latter, that is good enough for me.
The NES PowerPad was a brilliant piece of ingenuity that the good folks at Nintendo thought would look good atop your pile of worthless Nintendo accessories. The PowerPad's intentions were pure, no doubt, as Nintendo surely believed that they had finally solved the problem of how to make games more tedious and unresponsive while still making it possible for fat kids to keel over while playing them. The Powerpad, upon its release in 1988, quickly revolutionized stomping your feet. 
No more would gamers have to wildly mash at their A and B buttons while playing Track and Field...now, at long last, they could wildly stomp on a gigantic pad with arbitrary numbers and letters on it.
Don't get me wrong, it was kind of a good idea...but the technology behind the aptly named PowerPad was just not quite there and sadly, harnessing the ultimate power—body power—was at least 10 good years down the road. Parents probably put these bad boys under the tree hoping that junior would finally get some excercise and give his Nintendo thumb some time to heal, but with a whopping 5 games that were compatible with the PowerPad, the "fun" never really took flight. Another thing that got me about the PowerPad is that apparently it was Verboten to wear shoes on this thing (probably damaging to the complex circuitry or maybe just left scuff marks), so any time the old Pad was dragged out, it brought with it the intoxicating aroma of sweaty feet. Feet are not all smelly, mind you, but for 9-12 year old boys that bathe once a week and wear the same shoes to church, soccer practice, school and swampmucking definitely have a corner on the market.
The PowerPad, though not as worthless as the Powerglove, worked poorly at best. Any hopes of increasing your sprinting technique went out the window when the Pad was plugged in. Players had to resort to a kind of shuffle step to actually see results and then jump to other "buttons" or off the pad completely for hurdling or *shudder* pole-vaulting. All in all, the PowerPad was probably the 3rd best Nintendo accessory right behind the zapper and the electrical cord. It was probably best to just avoid anything with "power" in the name.
Tetherball? Are you kidding me? No, no… the biggest waste of time during elementary school recess? Four-square as played under “Siedenstricker Rules”.
Don’t get me wrong – Four-square was the most popular of all 5th grade recess games. The bell for recess would ring, and the stampede would begin, the race would be on! We would run as fast as we could to get to that gravel-covered asphalt court, emblazoned with bright white squares. Those that were too slow to make it into a square, would stand on the sidelines, hoping to take the place of the next loser. One square was always occupied by our teacher, Mr. Siedenstricker. He would call “Siedenstricker Rules”, and we would play as hard and fast as we could trying to get him out of the “winner square” by the end of recess. Big kids, little kids, ugly kids, popular kids – everyone united with a single goal – Beat Mr. Siedenstricker.
Looking back on four-square with our arch-nemesis teacher, I realize that he was just a mean teacher with “little-man-syndrome”. Those rules ensured that he would win every game. What a loser! Making rules so that 5th graders can’t win a recess game? So, in hindsight, four-square may have been fun, but getting beat by our height-challenged 5th grade teacher was not so cool.
Ah, hindsight, my trustworthy friend—tell me what game wasted more of your time growing up...
What's that you say? Tetherball? Oh yes, tetherball. The game of champions. A game where only the nimble, strong and crafty survive!
Tetherball was a great game to pass the long lunch recess hours and a fantastic spectator sport, but I have to tell you: tetherball is not as cool as I remember.
First off, you could NOT play a game of tetherball for more than 30 seconds without your hands getting absolutely filthy. It was like you just tossed a clay pot on the potter's wheel, plus this was well before Purel hand sanitizer was invented. Also, if you took just one semi-flat tetherball to the face, you might as well have been hit by a truck. The worst part of tetherball, however, was the neverending litany of rules. There were usually no less than 20 rules for each game which usually sounded like this: "Alright, first one to officially 'tether' the ball to the steel pole wins...BUT, there will be none of the following: ropies, fruit loops, helicopter spins, airplane dizzies, hand-jives, around-the-worlds, striking the ball with an open palm, roundhouse kicks etc..." The game was FREAKING TETHERBALL! The sole purpose of this game should've been to not strangle yourself with the nylon cord!
Then the cheaters came. Most tetherball games were so fraught with infractions that the outcome was violently disputed.
The most agregious cheaters (besides those that used roundhouse kicks) would enlist a chum who would give them a boost so they could "jack up" the cord to the top of the pole, thus making it too hard to defend against a tether by those of average elementary school height (2'6")
All told, tetherball was a decent way to mix things up from the usual recess routine of chasing girls, throwing rocks and silently crying in the music room...but as far as sports go it was lame—unless you play with NO RULES WHATSOEVER...cuz that's how I roll.
For the film purist, nothing is more desirable than a story about young love, teen angst, unbridled passion and young and old learning from one another—except,maybe,a story about karate, pottery, decorative trees and a millionaire industrialist/vietnam hero/martial arts expert/Steven Seagal lookalike. .jpg)
What movie could possibly fulfill this tall-cinematic order, you ask? I will tell you... if you promise to never run off and join a cult-like karate dojo—and never, I mean NEVER use the crane technique for anything but good, and the occasional dance competition. We have an agreement? Very well. The film of which I speak is none other than Karate Kidd part TRÉS. Karate Kid III begins much like Karate Kid II, explaining just what the heck happened to Daniel-san's girlfriend from the previous movie. I think that each KK movie wanted Daniel to have a clean slate, or maybe girls were interfering too much with Larusso's true love—a geriatric Okinawan by the name of Mr. Miyagi. Karate Kid III, no doubt in anticipation of a Karate Kid IV, decided to not get into the whole messy girlfriend business with this one and decided rather to give Daniel a girlfriend with whom there is no chance of romance because she is only in California for the summer and already has a boyfriend. Back to the story...Daniel once again, wisely decides to forego his own future and invests all of his college money on a bonsai tree shop for Miyagi, did I mention that Daniel-san loves Mr. Miyagi? It seemed cute in the first two, but in KKIII, Daniel has a full on crush on the old guy. We soon find out that John Kreese, the sensei from the dreaded Kobra Kai dojo has fallen on hard times, presumably because one of his students lost to Daniel Larusso in the all-valley karate championship. Apparently, Kreese's whole livelihood was destroyed when Larusso won the karate championship from Kreese's star pupil, Johnny...makes sense. Kreese seeks out the help of an old army buddy by the name of Terry Silver to get his life back on track. I should mention now that Terry Silver is probably in the top 5 of all evil people named "Terry" in history—just behind Terry Bradshaw, Terry Hatcher, Terry Dactyl and Terry Bin Laden...I mean, this is one bad dude. Not only is Terry Silver a multimillionaire martial arts expert, but he dumps toxic sludge in developing countries, sports a maniacal ponytail and bathes almost exclusively in large, marble bubble baths. Terry Silver elects to help Kreese out the only way he knows how—by taking Kreese's sworn enemy under his wing to train him for a tournament he was forced to enter...and punch sundry things with his bare knuckles. A small montage of Terry Silver's most diabolical moments are below...please note, these are not for the faint of heart.
